The man across from her chuckled at that. When she stared at him in confusion, he schooled his features to appear more businesslike.
“Proposing is the right word, sweet lady.” At his endearment, her skin crawled. “You will marry a certain gentleman whose family affairs I oversee.”
“I will? Why would I consent to marry a stranger?” She ignored Cyrus and looked at Gladys instead. The woman, several years older than herself, always reminded her of Lady Macbeth. She could picture the woman vowing, like that Shakespearian character, to dash out her own child’s brains. The woman had never treated either Tessie or herself to any warmth through the years.
The older woman drew her already stiff carriage even more erect, something Violet had not thought possible, and sniffed with disapproval. “You have no money and now no home. Certainly you didn’t think you would inherit my father’s house and his money. Those were meant to come to me when Tessie finally died.”
Fisting her hands at Gladys’ use of the word “finally” in connection with her guardian’s passing, Violet opened her mouth to give the woman a set down. Then she quickly closed it. The older woman was wrong about one thing. She might no longer had a home. Nonetheless, she did have money.
“Aunt Tessie did tell me more than once I would be provided for if anything should happen to her. Regardless, my parents’ home was sold to create a trust fund for me. I do have money.”
Cyrus Bingham sadly shook his head. “Such a shame about that fund. So many expenses over the years to provide for your care, you understand.”
As Violet lowered her gaze away from his to think about his words, she caught a look of triumph pass between the two. She would make a visit to the bank to check on the funds she felt sure must still be there. The lawyer’s words changed that plan.
“It never really was a trust fund after all. Just another of Mrs. Mannerly’s accounts she happened to use for your care. Your name isn’t on it, I’m afraid.”
“She intended it to go to me when I reached twenty-one. Aunt said so many times.” Violet held out her hands in a pleading gesture. These two had rattled her badly with this news.
The lawyer looked at his partner in whatever scheme was afoot, pretending a shocked look. “Did you ever hear such a thing, dear Miss Mannerly?”
“Perhaps,” the woman allowed slyly. “I happen to know five thousand dollars remain in that account. What a wonderful dowry to bring to a husband.”
The trap closed around Violet. She could feel herself reaching for the bait. “I may have my money if I marry this stranger?”
The woman grinned a tight-lipped smile. “I wouldn’t say it’s your money. However, out of kindness I will provide a dowry for you.” The woman grew silent and waited. Violet had once read about the lions of Africa’s Savannah stalking their prey. At that moment, she felt like the zebra.
Not wanting to give in, she grasped for something to allow her a bit more time to think through what they had designed for her. “Please tell me a bit about this stranger.”
“He’s older than you.” At her grimace, Cyrus hurried to reassure her. “Not by much. He turned twenty-four this year as I recall. While I only met him once, three years ago, I remember him to be acceptable looking.”
Since she was barely acceptable looking herself, that didn’t bother Violet. What did surprise her was that the lawyer hadn’t seen the man in so many years. “Isn’t he your client? Why has it been so long since the two of you met?”
“His father was my client. I still oversee some of the family’s monies, you see. Sadly, first his mother passed on and then his father.” The man grinned as he explained, making Violet wonder why the deaths pleased Cyrus. She stopped her imagination and resumed listening to the lawyer.
“And with the death of their own attorney shortly after, I took over as trustee and sold the family mercantile. The heir can’t touch the funds without my approval until he turns twenty-five.”
Oh drat! She’d missed something again. Violet hoped she understood correctly what he’d just said. It had something to do with money left by her prospective groom’s parents. Definitely time to ask a question for clarification.
Straightening her back, Violet tilted her head in order to seem as if she might be looking down on Cyrus as she spoke to him. It was a trick Aunt Tessie had taught her to gain a bit of control in a tense situation. “Yes, you control this man’s inheritance. How does that relate to this proposed marriage?”
Cousin Gladys slapped her palm down on the desk. “You weren’t listening!” The woman’s face turned puce as she all but shouted at her.
“The man needs money and will get it when he marries you. You will have a dowry when you marry him. It’s simple enough. Even you should understand.” At her cousin’s sarcastic bite, Violet struggled to maintain her stiff back and tipped chin. She badly wanted to race out of the office and back to the only home she’d known for the last ten years.
During a moment of silence Violet composed herself. She resisted the nervous urge to touch her hair and instead kept her hands folded and in her lap. “May I meet with the man and discuss retaining my dowry before I agree to marry him?”
While the question had seemed reasonable to her, Cyrus and Gladys exchanged looks of equal parts frustration and annoyance. The lawyer leaned forward intimidatingly. “The man’s all the way out in Nebraska so you can’t expect any of us to meet with him.”
At that news, Violet sprang from her seat. “Nebraska! You plan for me to leave Pittsburgh and move west!” With a swish of her black bombazine dress, she moved to the door. With her gloved hand on the knob, she stopped at the warning issued sternly behind her. “Don’t you dare return to what is now my house unless you first agree to the marriage.”
Turning slowly to face the older woman, Violet let her hand fall away from the door. When she again stared toward the two behind the desk, she saw that Gladys had risen and cast a large shadow in the dimly lit office. “It’s night. Do you want to walk the streets, destitute, or shall you do as I tell you?” The woman issued the ultimatum with a clenched jaw that made it sound as if she’d bitten off each word.
Having only one more objection to raise, Violet hoped it would put the possible marriage on hold. “I’m afraid I’d get to Nebraska and be alone. What if this man won’t marry me when I arrive?” With her straight, honey-brown hair and plain face, she feared he’d take one look at her and then abandon her to whatever fate might befall her alone in a strange place.
With an oily tone, Cyrus quickly tried to reassure her. “That won’t happen since you’ll be married to him before you ever meet the man.” He also rose. As he came around his desk, the shadow of his body on the wall reminded Violet of the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk or other fairytales she’d read. With a gasp she backed up, coming against the closed office door.
Unable to get farther from him, Violet couldn’t escape the arm Cyrus put around her shoulders. “Trust us to know what is best for you.” He squeezed her shoulders almost painfully.
Slipping under his arm, she moved to stand by Gladys. That woman glared at the attorney. “We’ll be sure you are married by proxy before you leave the city. In fact, Mr. Bingham--” Here she stopped and caught Cyrus’ eye. Then she pointed at the papers laid out on the top of the desk. “—has documents ready for you to sign so the proxy ceremony can proceed.”
Like talons, her hands grabbed Violet’s arms and steered her back to stand in front of the desk. “Take the pen and sign them, Violet.” The woman’s adamant tone as well as her earlier ultimatum had Violet picking up the pen. In the dim light she had difficulty reading what she signed but still tried to scan the papers. The first was straightforward, being the agreement to marry by proxy. The second one seemed to be a will of some sort. When she lifted it toward the lamp in order to better see it, Gladys pinched her arm and snorted. “Get it done. No more procrastinating!”
When Violet still attempted to read the paper, Gladys shook her arm rough
ly. “Now, Violet! We have a ceremony to see to and the judge is waiting.”
Since Gladys’ father had been much older than Aunt Tessie, Gladys had been almost the same age as her stepmother. Already intimidated by this woman from past exchanges, Violet obeyed her elder and signed the second document.
After that, events moved rapidly. The attorney scooped up the documents, tucking them into his brief-bag. With her hand still on Violet’s arm, Gladys marched her cousin out of the office and into a cab that Cyrus had hailed for them. Once she’d seated herself in the vehicle, Violet gave a sigh of relief when her cousin sat next to her. Cyrus took the seat across from them, leaving Violet free from his touch but not his roving gaze.
No one spoke during the carriage ride, which lasted longer than Violet expected. When the cab stopped, Violet realized they were in Shadyside. She’d been there years before with Aunt Tessie, to visit one of that woman’s wealthy friends. The lady they had visited died soon after so she hadn’t had any reason to again venture into this exclusive neighborhood.
Lamps gleamed from the windows of the large three-story house that dripped with gingerbread. At Gladys’ first knock, the door opened and a servant, whose white hair contrasted sharply with his black suit coat, invited them inside. “Judge Morgan is expecting you.”
The three followed him past doorways that revealed a dining room with a long mahogany table and a parlor with a tempting fire that teased Violet with its warmth. Finally at the one door that was closed, they stopped while the servant rapped sharply on it.
At a command, the servant opened it and shouted, “Mr. Bingham and two ladies are here, sir.” The man then stepped aside and with the flourish of his arm invited them to enter the library.
On either side of the lamp-lit room, Violet could see that books covered the walls from floor to ceiling. A ladder stood ready to be used to retrieve the volumes. Hearing a drawer opened noisily she pulled her eyes away from the shelves and noticed a small, wizened man behind a large oak desk.
The man looked from Gladys to Violet. “Since Miss Mannerly is here, I assume you are Violet Barrigar whose guardian only recently died.”
With a small book in hand, the old man rose and approached her. “Well, well, well, so this is the happy, happy, bride.” As the man pinched Violet’s cheek, she wondered if he always repeated himself.
A lump formed in Violet’s throat and she could only nod sadly in response. When she didn’t say anything, the man cleared his own throat uncomfortably. “Well, long, long ago, your father was in practice with my youngest brother. Fine, fine doctor my brother told me more than once. Anytime you need help, look up old Judge Morgan.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Violet saw Cyrus exchange a worried glance with Gladys at the judge’s promise of aid should she ever need it. The other woman shook her head and motioned for him to direct his attention once more toward the older man. What were these two scheming at?
Motioning for them to stand in front of him, the judge suggested, “Suppose you should take her hand, Cyrus, since you’re playing the groom.” When the attorney reached for her hand, she tucked it behind her and shook her head. He glowered and dropped his own hand away from her.
The judge guffawed, causing a ruby hue to stain Cyrus’ face. While she felt badly about embarrassing the lawyer, she cringed at his touch and refused to offer an apology for avoiding it. While anger radiated from the man, the judge ignored it and began the ceremony.
Violet was especially interested to learn her groom’s name. Prior to this, no one had mentioned it. Bode Palmer Parker. From the way the judge pronounced it, bow-dee, she wondered if the name was spelled Bough-dee. She’d check the certificate later to find out. She’d never known anyone with that name and imagined there must be a story of why the man had been given it. Perhaps she’d learn that one day.
Her mind had wondered again she realized. The judge and Cyrus stared at her, their expressions making it clear that they expected her to say something. With a question clear in her tone, she offered, “I do?”
From Judge Morgan’s smile and the sudden release of air by Cyrus, she’d guessed correctly. Violet Barrigar had become Violet Parker.
“Now by the power invested in me by the State of Pennsylvania, you may now kiss your…” The judge’s voice trailed off as if he’d realized that part didn’t fit into a proxy marriage ceremony. Cyrus, however, took advantage of the moment and pulled Violet toward him. Shrieking, she pushed against his chest and raced to hide behind the shame-faced judge who understood the awkwardness of his error.
“Now, Bingham, you don’t have the right so leave this girl alone. Gracious man, she must be thirty years younger than you!” The elder’s reprimand as well as Gladys’s shocked gasp stopped Cyrus. He pulled at the sleeves of his coat to set them aright and sniffed with indignation.
“Let’s sign the papers, Judge Morgan. I have another appointment yet tonight.” Cyrus clearly wanted to appear businesslike so the judge would forget his lapse.
Violet let out her breath in relief that the man had ceased pursuing her and said a prayer that Bode Palmer Parker would be nothing like Cyrus Bingham. That quick prayer brought to mind a thought that started a rock growing in her stomach. She wouldn’t have the right to avoid Bode Parker’s touch.
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About Marisa
Marisa Masterson and her husband of thirty years reside in Saginaw, Michigan. They have two grown children, one son-in-law, a grandchild on the way, and one old and lazy dog.
She is a retired high school English teacher and oversaw a high school writing center in partnership with the local university. In addition, she is a National Writing Project fellow.
Focusing on her home state of Wisconsin, she writes sweet historical romance. Growing up, she loved hearing stories about her family pioneering in that state. Those stories, in part, are what inspired her to begin writing.
Find her on Facebook, in the Chat Sip and Read Community, Sweet Wild West Reads, or on her Facebook page.
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Grace for a Drifter
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.
Grace for a Drifter ©2019 Marisa Masterson
Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt
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Editing by Amy Petrowich
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1st Ed.
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